Chapter 23
Ewan had missed dinner last night. And when he woke again the next day, the headache that had made it impossible for him to leave his room was still hounding him.
For the rest of the day, the pain persisted. He could not think straight, could not focus on anything. He had to cancel meetings with his steward, and sent Alaric to meet with his tenants in his stead.
“Are you sure?” his friend asked, not bothering to keep the alarm from his voice, as they sat together in the darkened study. Sunlight was particularly difficult for Ewan at the moment. Every time he passed a window, he felt as if someone were driving a nail right between his eyes.
“I am sure,” Ewan said, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain pressed against his forehead. “I cannot even be near an open window, let alone actually be outside.”
Alaric, who was watching him closely, sat forward. “I am worried, Your Grace,” he murmured. “This is not like you. I have only ever known you to be healthy and vital.”
“It is the stress of Christopher returning,” Ewan said, closing his eyes and pressing his thumbs hard into his temple. “And the worry of knowing that I might have driven my wife fully into his arms.”
A sick feeling slithered through his stomach, and he was glad that his eyes were closed so that he did not have to look at Alaric directly. The shame of it was too strong, and he felt tears gather behind his eyes. Tears he would never let fall, of course.
“What are you talking about?” his friend asked sharply. “Her Grace has absolutely no interest in Christopher, and I cannot imagine what you might have done to drive her into his arms.”
Taking a deep breath, Ewan forced himself to open his eyes, praying that the water that had been there was gone now.
“I told her about Margaret,” he muttered. “And now I am sure she is disgusted by me.”
The confusion vanished from Alaric’s face, replaced by concern. “I see,” he said slowly. “Although I disagree with your prognosis. Telling the duchess about Margaret will not make her disgusted by you. If anything, the opposite.”
“She knows of my shame now,” Ewan snapped, although speaking loudly only increased the pain in his head.
“She knows how I was humiliated by Christopher. And can you not see the parallels, Alaric? Both women wanted to marry my brother. Both ended up married to me again. It is a cosmic joke, my friend. God is surely laughing at me, that this is happening all over again.”
“Except it is not the same situation,” Alaric said sharply.
“Lady Margaret was deeply in love with your brother, God help her. I do not like to speak ill of the dead, but she was a naive, vain woman, easily won over by empty flattery. Her Grace is not like that at all. Cassandra is intelligent, discerning, and wise. She never loved Christopher, she barely even knew him, and only agreed to the match in order to do her duty to her family.”
“How do you know that?” Ewan asked, staring at his friend with a mixture of astonishment and hope. “Did she say something to you?”
“No, but this is what Lillian, Miss Ashworth, tells me,” Alaric said, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. “They are friends, and Lillian tells me that the duchess did not cry once after your brother was presumed dead. Not once. Does that sound like a woman who is in love? She was upset, of course, and worried for her future. But she made it clear to Lillian that she had not expected the marriage to be a love match, and that she already had significant worries about the character of her future husband.”
Ewan was silent for a long moment. That first day they met and he saved her from the water, Cassandra had asked questions about Christopher that had told him she had doubts about the marriage. And it was true that he had never seen her weep when they had thought him dead.
And she had seemed remarkably willing to marry Ewan instead.
Not to mention the tender moments that had passed between them, the way that she had taken his hand after he had confessed what his marriage had been like, had admitted that he could never go back, never do that again…
But it was possible she had felt sympathy in the moment, only for that sympathy to be replaced by disgust later, once the reality of what he had told her had settled in.
He did not like the person he had been when he had been married to Margaret. And he did not want Cassandra knowing that man. It was hard to believe she would not find him as pathetic as he had found himself.
“I truly believe that it is you that Her Grace cares for,” Alaric murmured, and Ewan looked back at him. He had almost completely forgotten about his presence. “But you will not keep her forever, if you continue to push her away.”
Ewan swallowed and looked down. “You have noticed that, too, have you?”
“I have,” Alaric said. “And it is not as if I do not understand. Of course you are worried. The circumstances are alarmingly similar… But they are different, as well, in many important ways. And I think that if you continue down the path you are on, where you put up walls that are impossible to climb, that you will only end up pushing her away. Not into Christopher’s arms, I think there is little chance of that, but somewhere you cannot reach her. In her heart, I mean.”
Alaric’s voice quavered slightly, and he cleared his throat.
“I know firsthand what it is like to lose someone,” he said after a moment.
“Miss Ashworth has recently informed me that she intends to take a position at a new household far from the Highlands. Despite the many times I have told her how I feel, that I do not care if we are poor, she believes that she must take care of her family, that she has a duty to them. I am losing her, Ewan, and my heart is breaking.”
To Ewan’s surprise, Alaric’s eyes were bright with tears.
“I did not know the depth of your feelings,” he said quietly.
“But while my heart is broken, I do not regret for a moment having told her how I feel. Now I know that when I lose her, it will not be for a lack of trying. I think that is the regret I could not live with. And I think you would not be able to live with it, either.”
“You are right,” Ewan said. His friend’s words were burning through him, making him able to think clearly for the first time in days. “I cannot push Cassandra away anymore. It has been so hard to think straight, with this lethargy that has come over me.”
“I think you will feel better once you talk to her,” Alaric said. “I would not be surprised, in fact, if this illness has been brought up by keeping all of this buried inside of you. Ill humors can affect a man very powerfully.”
“I hope you are right,” Ewan said, although he wasn’t so sure. He had a feeling that his illness was more directly related to his brother’s presence, and the feeling he had every moment of the day that he was about to turn a corner and see him and Cassandra locked in a tight embrace.
At that moment, there was another knock on the door, and Ewan sat up straight, quickly adjusting his cravat so that it was perfectly in place.
Christopher entered with a concerned smile affixed to his face. When he saw Alaric, he paused, the smile momentarily slipping. But then he quickly readjusted it and stepped forward, closing the study door behind him.
“Excuse the interruption,” he said, “but I wanted to speak with you, Ewan.”
He glanced at Alaric, who did not move.
“You can speak freely in front of Alaric,” Ewan said.
Christopher hesitated another moment. Then he cleared his throat.
“It is about your health, Ewan. I could not help but notice that you have been skipping meals, you are more tired than usual, and you have been complaining of headaches. I have been very worried, and I know that your wife has been, as well. And your daughter. Therefore I hope you will not mind that I took the liberty of having a tonic sent from an apothecary I know in London.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of liquid, which he held out to Ewan. “This man is very good. He has healed me on many occasions. He says it will ease your pain and improve your lethargy.”
Ewan took the vial and examined it. “What is in it?” he asked.
“All sorts of herbs you will not have heard of,” Christopher assured him airily. “But trust me, I have seen the proof of their efficacy. This particular tonic has helped me to alleviate headaches after many mornings where I imbibed far too much and felt that my head was being hammered open.”
“I do not know if this is simply a result of drinking too much,” Ewan said. “I fear that it is stress that is giving me these headaches.”
“Stress?” Christopher did not look convinced. “What do you have to be stressed about, brother? You have a beautiful wife, a thriving estate—”
“—if the land reforms go through—”
“—and your brother whom you thought was dead has turned out to be very much alive. I am personally of the opinion that your life is not very stressful at all.”
“A duke has many responsibilities,” Ewan observed, but Christopher just laughed.
“You take on more than you need to,” he said.
“Your life should be enjoyed, not simply endured. Yes, you have responsibilities, and I am not suggesting that you neglect them. But you also have to learn how to revel in the many pleasures that being a powerful, titled man can give you. I do not mean that you should make the same mistakes that I did, but simply that you do not always need to be so rigid.” Christopher smiled fondly down at him.
“You are allowed to enjoy your life, brother.”
Ewan sat for a long moment, observing these words. As the truth of this washed over, he felt another wave of guilt follow close on its heels. His brother was right. He deserved to enjoy his life more.
This was why he had always supported Christopher, despite his brother’s many mistakes: Because he was one of the few people who would ever remind him to do anything other than work.
And how had he repaid that? By blaming his headaches and lethargy and irritation on his brother’s return.
By suspecting him of trying to steal Cassandra back.
By wishing that he was gone.
“You are right,” he murmured at last. “There is more to life simply than drainage pipes and land reforms.”
“Yes,” Christopher said dryly, “there certainly is.”
And suddenly, Cassandra’s face filled Ewan’s mind’s eye. Her sly smile when she was challenging him, the stubborn tilt of her jaw, her wide-eyed awe at being shown the drainage system, her interest and quick learning when he taught her what the various tools were for.
She was how he could learn to enjoy life more. She was the person he wanted to revel in life with. She was the one who made him want to spend his days doing anything other than working, managing the estate, and fighting for political reforms.
“Drink that up,” Christopher said, clapping him on the back. “Then, when you feel better, we can go into Edinburgh or Glasgow and have a little bit of fun, just us brothers. Responsible fun,” he added quickly.
“I would like that very much,” Ewan said, and he meant it. Maybe it was high time, now that Christopher was trying to reform, that he got to know his brother again, spent more time with him, figured out why he had gone so astray.
Ewan uncorked the vial and threw back the tonic. It tasted like anise, and he made a face, but swallowed it all down anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alaric make a small movement, but when he looked at him, his body was still and his face was perfectly neutral.
“Very good,” Christopher said. “I shall see you both for supper.”
He left, and a long, strained silence filled the study, although Ewan was not sure of the source of this strain. He raised his eyes at Alaric.
“Is everything well?”
“I am simply wondering if it was a good idea for you to drink that,” Alaric said slowly. He was watching Ewan with an expression that was overly careful, as if he were reading a difficult document, rather than talking to an old friend.
“Why would it not be?” Ewan asked.
“Well, we do not know what was in it,” Alaric observed.
“You heard my brother: He has been taking these potions for some years now.”
“We only have his word for it.”
Ewan’s jaw tightened, and he felt himself glare at Alaric. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Alaric said quickly. “I am sure that your brother has experience in this field, if he says he does. But that does not mean that he is as proficient as he says he is. Your illness started when he returned, and now he is prescribing tonics… It all feels too convenient.”
Ewan stood up, which was no small feat, because it made all the blood rush to his head, and he felt momentarily so dizzy that he had to seize the desk to keep from collapsing.
“I do not know what you are implying,” he snarled, “but that is my brother you are talking about. And he would never deliberately harm me.”
Alaric held up his hands as if in surrender.
“I do not mean to imply that he would hurt you deliberately,” he cried.
“Only that we do not know what the source of your illness is, and it is possible that your brother’s tonic, prescribed by an apothecary without properly assessing you, will only worsen the symptoms.” Alaric’s voice was pleading as Ewan sank back into his chair.
“Please, Your Grace, for my sake, why do you not send for the doctor? He might be able to pinpoint the cause of these headaches and fatigue, and then he can assign a medical remedy. One that has been tested.”
Ewan grunted. “Very well. I do see the sense in that.”
Alaric looked greatly relieved as he let his hands fall to his side. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall send a note to him now. You should be examined posthaste.”
And he hurried from the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. When he was gone, Ewan sat back, grateful for the silence as another pulse of pain shot through his head.
Something was seriously wrong with him, and he had a duty to the estate, and to Cassandra, to figure out exactly what it was.